Silhouette of a Spinster and Other Seductions
ART OF LOVE
CHARLIE LANE
Copyright © 2024 by Charlie Lane
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
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First
Edition
Editing by Krista Dapkey
Cover art by Anna Volkin
Created with Vellum
ForBrian,whoprobablywould,eventually,letmedrawhissilhouette ifIaskedhimto.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Historical Note
Also by Charlie Lane
About the Author Acknowledgments
Contents
One
October1822
She wasn’t wearing gray. Of all the things Lord Andrew Bromley had lost control of since his arrival at his childhood home, this proved the most unexpected. Mrs. Amelia Dart. In pink.
Impossible. In the five years he’d known Mrs. Dart, she’d never worn colors other than gray. Occasionally black. Or white. But mostly gray. Never pink. Of all the things he’d lost control of since his arrival, this one seemed the most annoying.
Likely because Mrs. Dart had always seemed so controlled herself, so steadfast, so capable and reliable. One thing he could always rely on her notto do—wear pink.
Until now, sitting squashed on the chapel pew between his mother and his sister-in-law Fiona. They were responsible for the pink, no doubt, likely thought it more fitting for a wedding than gray. Mrs. Dart would never. Not even for a wedding. The spike of surety on that point gave him a bit of comfort, soothed the chaos of his pulse, and gentled the clench of his fist. Mrs. Dart had not worn pink of her own volition.
Once his brother’s wedding was over, he’d send her back to her room to change. She’d thank him for it. And the world, his life, could
go on as it had since he’d taken sole responsibility for it a decade ago.
He had no time for unexpected pinks. Life contained more pressing matters, after all. He had six letters waiting him in his room. Six clients needing placement, needing refuge, needing a means toward independence. He’d finished his letter to a family in need of a governess for their twin daughters, and even though it would make him late, at least Miss Howhampton was closer to finding a position and a regular meal earned through her own skill. How much longer would this wedding take? The clergyman, it seemed, would never stop his droning. He’d not even missed a word when Drew had snuck in late to stand near the back. The chapel was bursting with wedding guests, most of whom he had never met before, all here to see Lord Theodore Bromley and Lady Cordelia Trent bound by holy matrimony.
He sighed and caught sight of Mrs. Dart once more, her corkscrew curls bound high atop her head, making her easy to spot. Hissecretary in pink? The woman who’d helped him run his agency for the last five years? Absurd. His fist clenched, and his breathing quickened. His cravat became a noose he tugged at.
God, he hated surprises, and her gown had exploded in his face. He couldn’t control what she wore. Of course he couldn’t. But things would be better if he could.
At the front of the church, Theo and his bride repeated the clergyman’s words, signed the register, then turned and left the chapel to a roar of cheers. Theo smiled. Actually smiled. Like he meant it. When he hadn’t smiled in years—not at least, that Drew could remember. Of course, he had reason to smile now. Theo’s new wife was stunning—a Titian dream with generous curves. But like any Titian painting Drew had ever seen, he felt nothing looking on her. He smiled and nodded as they passed by but slipped toward the back of the crowd.
Watching a pink gown pass by. Had Mrs. Dart’s cheeks turned pink, too? No. A gown could not change a woman’s countenance.
An arm, heavy and large, settled around his shoulders. “Glad you could join us.” His brother Atlas grinned down at him. Drew was a
tall man, as were all his brothers, but Atlas stood taller than them all. Broader, too. And though they’d all experienced their share of disappointment, Atlas’s blue-eyed gaze held far more shadows. The man had seen war, and his body and soul wore the wounds of it.
“I wasn’t going to miss Theo’s wedding,” Drew said.
“Only most of it.” A laugh lilted through his brother’s rich baritone.
Drew shrugged. Watching his brother marry achieved nothing. “I need to spend a few days in London before returning to Manchester. We must leave tomorrow.” He and Mrs. Dart. And she would notbe wearing pink.
“So soon? Come now, brother. There’s been talk of a house party. A small one, mind you, and just until the harvest celebration is passed. Raph is grumbling and saying no, but I think we can convince him to be a tiny bit irresponsible, what with the sale of the townhouse.”
“Why would I want to stay for a house party? I’ve business to attend to.” More than business. Expansion. The word sent a thrill through him as brushstrokes never could.
“Do you never stop working?”
“Not if I can help it.” Work was the only remedy for anything, control the only meaningful progression for man.
Atlas patted his brother’s back with a gentleness most would not expect from a man with such large hands.
Where had Mrs. Dart gone? Drew looked about. Like a rogue glove, he seemed to have misplaced her. Despite the explosive color of her gown. He turned to walk back to the house, but Atlas’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“Not that way. The wedding breakfast is to be held in town, at the pub.”
“I’m aware.”
“Join us? Please. We so rarely see you.”
Drew sighed and fell into step with his brother. “Damnably odd to have the breakfast in the pub.”
“We do everything odd here, remember? Or have you been so often gone from Briarcliff you’ve forgotten?”
Briarcliff held little for him. He found it too mercurial. Nothing stable to hang onto in its ever-shifting sands. He hated sand. He preferred London. Or Manchester, where his agency was located.
“Besides,” Atlas continued, “Raph insists on benefiting the village whenever possible.”
“He can afford such philanthropic extravagances these days?” Or was he becoming like their father—his heart too big for his coffers?
Atlas made a humming sound. “We’ve more work to do. But every day brings improvement. We’ve sold four of the paintings. And the London townhouse. And Matilda rents out her little Cumbrian cottage. And once I’m finished with the dower house, we’ll do the same with that. My songs sell, too.” Said with a shake of the head like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“War songs or—”
“Love songs.”
Drew snorted. “Drivel.”
“Yes. But people love them. And it’s good for us, too. I’ve been able to almost complete renovations of the dower house with the funds from my music.”
“How do you write it, though? Been in love before? Are you pining?”
“No. And no. Writing about love is easy. I think about pudding.”
Drew almost stumbled but caught himself, resulting in only the slightest hitch of his step. “Pardon me? Pudding?”
“Or Bess.”
“A barmaid?”
“A cow.” Atlas tugged at his cravat.
“You’re in love with a cow?”
“No! But she’s a fine animal. And she deserves some appreciation. And I was rather low on inspiration that week.”
“You write love songs about pudding and cows?”
“And sunsets and a good cold ale, among other things.” Atlas ripped off his jacket, a too-big affair meant more for comfort than fashion. “All lovely things.”
Drew straightened the cuffs of his perfectly tailored coat. “And no one notices?”
“The one about Bess fetched a pretty penny. Zander used to help me write, but when he can’t I have to do what I can.”
“I’m fascinated.” Quite despite himself. In all his two and thirty years, he’d never shared an interest, that he knew of, with his older brother. He wouldn’t call it interest now. More like … curiosity. “Give me a lyric.”
“No.”
“I want to hear one.”
“No.”
“I’ll be in London tomorrow, and I’ll just find the sheet music and—”
“Fine.” Atlas cleared his throat and sang in the rich baritone that had cast a spell since their childhood. “A glow in her cheek, the dew in her eye; my heart’s never steady, when my sweet lady cries.”
“What’s that about?”
“Sunset,” Atlas mumbled. “Just change sky to cheek and leaf to eye, then mention a lady and—” He shrugged.
“Why the crying?”
“A storm rolled through.”
“Ah. I think you might be a genius, Atlas.”
Another shrug. “The people seem to like it.”
“Tell me the one you wrote about the cow.”
“What if, instead, I ask Bessy to kick you in the—”
“Very well, then.” Drew held up his hands as if to stop Bessy’s hooves. “No more music for the moment.”
They walked the rest of the way in cheerful silence, and when they reached the pub, Mrs. Dart still was nowhere to be seen. No gentle pink below dark, corkscrew curls. Drew scowled as he sat with his brothers.
Raph, the eldest of them, clapped a hand on his back. “Why so dour, Drew?” His dark hair waved back from his forehead, and his blue eyes sparkled. He had a square jaw and a nose bumped with an old break gifted from a flying fist. Drew’s hand clenched, flexed open. He shook the memories out of it.
“You’ve no right to be dour.” Theo, the happy groom, slumped in his chair. “I do, though. They’ve taken my bride. Who knows where.”
Zander slammed mugs of ale on the table and pushed one before each brother. The five of them were similar in height and features, most of them having taken after their father with dark hair and eyes somewhere between blue and gray. Theo’s brown hair lightened in the summer to a dirty blond, a single concession to their mother’s lighter coloring.
“What are we discussing?” Zander asked. “Whose face is most displeasing? Very well then. Though I must admit it’s a difficult choice between young Theodore and the imposing Andrew, I must choose—ow!”
Theo raised a brow as Zander rubbed his upper arm and warily eyed Theo’s fist.
“Shall we take this outside?” Zander asked, all amicability.
Theo flexed his fist, then sipped his ale. “Tomorrow. If Cordelia finds out I’ve been brawling on our wedding day, she’ll become seriously displeased. And I prefer to keep her entirely pleased.” He grinned, took another sip. “Where the hell they’d take her?”
His brothers chatted, and Drew drank his ale slowly, letting it warm him. It had been some time since he’d sat with them like this. Since the night before their father’s funeral over a year and a half ago. That had been a much more somber event, though the ale had flowed freely and had been followed by a bottle of wine. Then one of whisky. Drew had supplied the whisky. He’d been the only one of them with his own consistent income.
So much had changed in a year, and he’d been away from it all, busy in Manchester instead of by Raph’s and Atlas’s sides at Briarcliff or in London with Zander and Theo. He’d met his brothers’ new wives but had not come to know them as sisters.
Better that way. Impossible to control the actions of others. Best to remain as isolated as possible. He didn’t even let Mrs. Dart close. Any closer than he had to, at least, for her to help him run the agency, for her to be its public face.
“Where the hell is Mrs. Dart?” he mumbled, a finger tapping on the tabletop.
“Speaking of Mrs. Dart.” Raph’s voice cut through the banter and laughter, and the brothers took long sips of their ale. “What is she to
you?”
“My secretary,” Drew answered. “The face of my agency.” The screen he hid behind so the titled families he sent governesses and tutors to did not realize he actually workedinstead of simply owning. A silly distinction. A game he had to play. But necessary to keep his reputation clean from the whiff of work, labor. His clients required it, and those he helped find positions relied on it.
“She lives in the same house as you.” Raph leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Not amused. Clearly.
“I have two townhouses side by side with entirely separate entrances. One for my male employees to stay in when necessary and the other for the women. I sleep in the townhouse for the men, and Mrs. Dart occupies the one for women. It is entirely incorrect to say she lives with me.”
“You have brought her to three weddings in the last year.” Zander raised his hand to catch a barmaid’s attention. “Another round.”
Drew held Raph’s gaze. “Where I go, my secretary goes.” His business did not go on holiday, so neither did his secretary.
“It’s not quite right,” Raph said. “We all know she’s not really a widow. Others have likely guessed as well. Surely you can find a fellow to do what she does so she may do … something else. There must be talk about you two.”
Everyone looked to Theo.
He shrugged. “I’ve heard nothing of interest. And I would.” Theo’s satirical prints had been published in Ackermann’s and other well-read publications, and they always featured gossip of one sort or another. Usually the kind to ruin powerful men’s careers.
Hiring an unmarried woman as his secretary had been a bit of an unconventional move, but it had so far proved a smart one. She did the job better than anyone else could, kept his files and schedule in perfect order, as well as imbuing anyone who met her with a sense of confidence and trust. If Mrs. Dart said she’d find you the perfect governess, you believed it. Was he supposed to give that up because there mightbe rumors?
Drew looked to the rough beams of the ceiling overhead. “I understand your worry, Raph. I do. But she is a woman grown, and
she can find another position if she so desires. She does not so desire. Besides, I couldn’t possibly replace her at the moment. I’m expanding.”
“Expanding?” Atlas asked.
The maid returned with five cold mugs and placed them before the brothers.
Drew took a long swallow before answering. “I’m opening a London agency. Manchester is an excellent location for newly wealthy families looking for elite educational resources.” He’d opened his agency there for just that reason. “They need tutors and governesses from the best houses in England, and I can provide that. But it is not London.” London would be more expensive, though not by much these days. And it would be bigger. His clientele would grow as would his reputation.
He looked to his brothers. They leaned back in their chairs, hands wrapped loosely around cups. All looked at him. Then at Raph. Then back at him.
Raph leaned forward, set his elbows on the table. “Do you have the funds to do this?”
“Of course I do.” Or he would soon.
“Because your inheritance—”
“I don’t want it.”
Zander whistled, Theo chuckled, and Atlas downed half his ale.
“It’s yours,” Raph said. “No ridiculous will stipulations necessary. Mother has decided to forgo all the nonsense Father insisted on in his will.”
The infamous will donated most of his father’s massive art collection—the only thing of value left in the family—to the Royal Academy, leaving his children and widow with nothing but debts, a crumbling house, failing estate, and six priceless paintings. One painting willed to each child with the stipulation they must first earn it. Through the creation of a work of art.
Bloody ridiculous. And just like his father.
Drew pulled the wrists of his gloves up tight, as if they weren’t already perfectly formed to his fingers, and he straightened his
already straight glasses. The glass glinted in the firelight, reminding him of the necessary barrier between him and the world.
He remained behind it as he spoke to no one in particular. “Not that any of you have skipped past the will’s demands. You’ve all done just as it asked, as Father asked.” Drew had seen his brothers’ art. Most of it. The canvas splashed with blobs of paint—Zander’s— and Theo’s satirical cartoon. Only Raph’s artistic contribution was missing because he’d drawn it on his wife’s arm. Raph’s own damn heart curling from Matilda’s palm to her elbow, alive like vines climbing a trellis, according to his mother. She liked to describe it whenever the chance arose.
His married brothers had done what his father’s will had demanded of them in order to earn their inheritances. They’d each produced a work of art deemed valuable by their mother, and they’d each been bestowed a painting worth more money than they’d possessed in their adult lives. The paintings had been sold, the funds put toward rebuilding the estate and wealth their father had wasted while still alive or toward building new lives for themselves.
Only Drew had built his life before his father’s death.
“I don’t need the money.” Not necessarily true. He needed money. Just not thatmoney. He had a plan.
Raph turned his hands on the table palms up. “Just sell the damn painting, Drew, and be done with it. I tell the same to Atlas, but—”
“I want to fulfill Father’s last request.” Atlas heaved a sigh. “Not sure how yet.”
“Songs about cows not winning Mother over?” Drew asked.
Atlas erupted into laughter, a deep sound that boomed throughout the pub. “Not a bit. Afraid she’s become spoiled. Thinks what she really gets is a daughter-in-law, not a work of art, and I’m not producing one of those for her to fawn over anytime soon.” He scratched his jaw. “Wish I had the funds, though. The dower house needs it. I’m almost done, but it’s not ready to rent out yet. There’s some fine work that needs a more artistic touch than I have. Some old furniture that needs new life.”
The brothers groaned, Atlas included.
“We don’t have to bring an artist to the house, do we?” Raph asked.
They’d been raised with artists of all kinds, their father’s friends and students, protégées who took the money he gave them even when he had no money to give.
“A cabinet maker,” Atlas said.
“Hire him, then.” Raph lifted his glass to his brother.
“Can we afford it?” Zander asked.
“Not really.” Raph sighed. “But if we wish to rent out the dower house, we must find a way to make it happen.” He stretched his mug toward Theo. “You’ve just opened that school for artists. Surely you or your bride know of someone who can help. Someone with much talent and little experience. We’ll pay them in food and lodging and help them gain the experience they need to land other commissions.
“Not a terrible idea,” Drew admitted.
“Very well.” Theo finished the rest of his ale and stretched his neck to look about the room. “I’ll ask Cordelia. She’ll know someone. She knows everyone.” His roaming gaze stopped, and he slapped his hands to his thighs as he stood. “Speaking of my beautiful wife, there she is. You brutes won’t mind if I exchange your company for hers.” He did not wait to hear their answers.
And Drew would not give one because he’d finally spotted the pink gown beneath dark corkscrew curls.
“Mrs. Dart.” His muscles clenched to stand, to join her, to ask her about the horrid gown. But he found himself frozen to the chair. Intimidated by pink? It seemed so. An unacceptable turn of events, and one he’d have to conquer. Because they had work to do before they left for London on the morrow. And while he couldn’t control, apparently, the clothes Mrs. Dart wore, he could control preparations for conquering London before week’s end.
But… the pink taunted him from the corner of his eye, drawing his attention closer like the bony hand of fate. He didn’t believe in fate. He’d finish his ale first.
Two
Amelia Dart had been in love for almost five years, but it was time to give it up. Lord Andrew Bromley, the oblivious object of her pitiful desire, would never notice, no matter what the three women staring at her over the pub table heavy with tankards said.
All of them Lord Andrew’s sisters-in-law, and all of them of the same mind—Amelia should confess her feelings.
Oh, yes, she’d do just that as soon as Scotland’s weather turned perennially sunny.
Amelia took a careful sip of her ale, watching the women over the rim of her tankard—a brunette, a blond, and a redhead, who would be beautiful in their own ways even if they weren’t shining with the beauty of being loved by the men they loved. They’d all insisted Amelia use their Christian names. She’d thought it odd at first. Now she knew why. They thought she would join their ranks.
How wrong they were.
“How did you know?” Amelia carefully hid the shock and horror from her voice. Careful. She always was. How had they figured it out? She must know so she could put a stop to whatever had given her away.
Fiona, Lord Lysander’s wife, gave a little hop, making the blond curls framing her face bounce. “Are you angry with us? It’s hard to
tell. You don’t”—she waved her hand at Amelia’s face—“show emotion very well.”
She showed it as well as she wished to, which was not at all at the moment. Precisely why she remained flummoxed.
“How did you know?” she demanded once more.
Lady Cordelia, the morning’s bride, offered only a sly smile.
The Marchioness of Waneborough, Matilda, shrugged. “It seems clear. The way you look at him.”
“For me,” Cordelia added, tapping the glass of her mug, “it was the first time we met, how you kept to his side. And what Tilda says. How you look at him.”
Amelia raised a brow, a slight gesture that usually sent people scurrying. “And how do I look at him?”
These women did not scurry. They leaned closer.
“Like you love him.” Fiona grinned, hiccuped.
“Oh dear.” Cordelia wrapped an arm around her sister-in-law’s shoulders. “Fee can’t hold her drink.”
“She’s had one,” Amelia said.
“It’s ’cause I’m small.” Fiona held up her thumb and her forefinger very close together and squinted her eyes at them. Then she sighed and finished off her drink.
“Another?” a barmaid asked.
“Yes, please,” Fiona answered before turning to Amelia once more. “Not going to drink it. Just want to make Zander think I did.”
“And why would you do that?” Amelia asked.
“Because he’s adorable and overprotective when he thinks I’ve over-imbibed, and he’ll whisk me off to bed, which is right where I want to be.”
Amelia rapped her knuckles on the table. “That’s what being in love looks like. And that apple at your elbow, Matilda, that’s love.” Her husband, the marquess, had brought it to her when she’d entered the pub, kissed its skin, kissed her lips, then flipped the fruit through the air to her with a wink. Matilda had not taken a bite of it yet, but she’d kept it close. “That man over there is in love.” She pointed to Lord Theodore sitting alone in a chair in the corner. He’d retreated there after hunting down Cordelia, who’d been, apparently,
just about to start an attack on Amelia she did not want to miss. She’d shrugged her husband off, but he still kept watch, stony-faced, arms crossed, watching.
Lady Cordelia waggled her fingers at him, and that stone broke into a mobile grin as he waggled his fingers right back.
Yes, that was love.
“Mere looking means nothing,” Amelia finished.
The women stared at her.
She stared back.
Curses. This could go on all night.
“Do speak up,” she said. “Say what you’re thinking.”
“You’re wearing the gown Fee loaned you.” Matilda’s gaze dropped to the pretty frock Amelia had donned that morning for the wedding, more lace than she’d ever worn before in her practical life.
She traced a scalloped edge of her sleeve with her fingertips. “What of it? I had nothing appropriate for a wedding. As you well know, Matilda, since I wore gray to yours and Fiona’s.”
Fiona shrugged. “The gray gowns were more than appropriate.”
“I would not have cared,” Cordelia added.
“I offered the gown only because you seemed to admire it. And I wanted you to enjoy yourself.”
Amelia smoothed the skirts, her gaze catching on the gown’s low bodice with the velvet trim. “It’s quite beautiful.” She hadn’t planned to wear it, even when Fiona had brought it to her. She’d put on her serviceable gray silk. But the pink had beckoned, so soft laid across the bed. And when she’d held it up to her figure, her cheeks had blushed a pretty shade, and she’d thought… She’d hoped…
She’d been a fool. A pitiful fool.
“You look lovely in it,” Matilda offered.
“I knew it would suit you.” Fiona reached a hand across the table toward Amelia. What did she want? A handshake? A pat?
Amelia stared at the hand until Fiona pulled it back.
“I apologize.” Amelia swallowed a swig of her ale. “I am unused to speaking like this with other women.” With anyone.
Fiona waved the apology away. “I particularly like your necklace. Quite a devastatingly lovely design.”
The silverwork flowers that sat heavy and warm around her neck glinted with what she hoped were paste diamonds and emeralds.
Cordelia bumped her shoulder into Fiona’s. “Complimenting your own designs?”
“Naturally.” Fiona preened.
“Fiona should compliment her own designs,” Matilda said, “and we should focus. You, Amelia Dart, should tell himhow you feel.”
And embarrass herself? And lose her position as his secretary? “No. I cannot. Thank you, all, for your concern and your wellmeaning advice, but it would be impossible.”
“No, you’re wrong.” Matilda’s smile was soft and the shake of her head the tiniest thing. “Love makes things possible.”
“I do not believe in magic.”
“Not magic,” Matilda reassured her. “The tooth-and-claw determination of two humans who will do anything for one another. That is what makes it all possible.”
Amelia studied the small bubbles on the top of her ale. They floated and popped in a time and dance that did not exist outside the glass. And the life she led with Lord Andrew also a precious, fragile thing. It should not exist, yet it did. She should not be happy. But she was. Most days. And if she told him … and if he did not … she’d have to leave. The happiness gone, the bubble burst.
“I’ve had enough waiting, wife.” Lord Theodore stood above them, staring down at his new bride. “Come along or I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”
Cordelia winked at her husband. “Promise?”
Lord Theodore turned red as a slash of paint across a canvas.
Matilda and Fiona chuckled.
Cordelia rose from her seat to take Lord Theodore’s arm. “Excuse me, ladies. My husband demands my presence.” She peered up at him and patted the back of his hand. “Why am I so terribly pleased I can still make you blush?”
His mouth set into a hard line, an attempt to tame a smile that failed almost immediately. “Come along, wife,” he muttered into her curls as he kissed the top of her head.
Then there were two, and they studied Amelia as if she were an exhibit in the London Tower.
“Where are you from?” Fiona asked.
“Why does it matter?” Amelia countered.
“Just curious.”
Amelia nodded at the tankard before the impish woman. “Drink and forget you find me interesting.”
“But I do find you interesting. It’s the accent, I suppose.”
“Do remember your manners, Fiona,” Matilda cautioned.
“Where are you from?” Fiona would not remember her manners or forget her interest, then.
Amelia sighed. “I was born in England and carted to America as a babe. When my parents died, I was sent back to England to live with my grandfather. I was fifteen. My accent, I assume, exists somewhere between the two locations. And I have traveled a bit on the Continent since my grandfather’s death. Spain and France and Germany. Italy. I have practiced their languages while abroad, so that may add further confusion.”
Fiona sighed. “It’s quite romantic.”
“I don’t see how.” Amelia snorted. The cities were beautiful, the art perfection. The days crowded with admirers, and the nights lonely. The suitors had only been after her money, the inheritance left to her by her grandfather. Nothing romantic about doting deceivers.
Matilda shook her head. “A vagabond life is not so desirable, Fee. ’Tis better to have a home.”
Home. Amelia had not been to hers in years, not since taking the position for Lord Andrew. The icy winds, the rough-hewn landscape. If Briarcliff were a pastoral fairy-tale place, Hawkscraig Castle was a gothic story picked straight from one of Ann Radcliffe’s horrid novels. Cold and gloomy and oh so lonely. And she missed it just a bit. Especially now, surrounded by Lord Andrew’s family, the celebrating villagers, the incandescent brightness of a place where people belonged.
Must be the ale.
She finished it off. “I’ve always embraced travel. I enjoy people, and home is in an isolated bit of Scotland. I have no more close family.”
Fiona squeaked. “I’m so sorry. I’ve opened up your tragedies.”
Amelia laughed. She’d not meant to, but the horror in the young woman’s eyes… she’d needed to alleviate it. “Not tragedies. Just a bit of loneliness.”
“You don’t have to be lonely.” Matilda averted her gaze. “If you tell a certain someone a certain something.”
But that was why she couldn’t tell him. She’d never been happier than while working for Lord Andrew at the agency. She had purpose. She helped others. She lived in a bustling, growing city, and the townhouse where she slept welcomed new tenants each month when they needed a home between positions. Always someone to look after. Always someone to talk to. She loved her life with Lord Andrew, and she would do nothing to risk it.
“Look.” Matilda grinned and tilted her tankard to a spot across the room. “He’s coming over here now.”
Amelia froze, then moved all the things all at once. Her palms slammed to the table, and her head jerked the direction Matilda looked as her eyes widened, and … there he was, prowling toward them like a jungle cat. He wore all black but for his fine wool jacket, which was the navy blue of a winter night sky. His brown hair had been pushed back from his forehead and curled around his ears. He needed a trim. He always needed a trim. His jaw was clean shaven and sharp, but not as sharp of as his ice-blue eyes. Always so cold behind the gold rims of his glasses.
He stopped just before the table, scowling down at her, and his presence did what it always did—melted her. On the inside only. On the outside, she straightened, took a bit of his iciness, and made it hers.
“Yes, Lord Andrew?” she asked.
“Do you plan to do this all day?”
“This? By thisdo you mean celebrate your brother’s nuptials?”
“Don’t use that tone with me, Mrs. Dart. You know we’ve much to do before we arrive in London.”
“There is much to be done, but it can be accomplished in London.”
Lord Andrew loomed.
Amelia glowered.
Matilda stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I hear Raph calling for me. Fiona?” She reached out a hand to her sister-in-law.
“Hm?” Fiona stared at Lord Andrew and Amelia.
“Zander is looking for you.”
“He is?” Fiona looked up and around. “No he’s not. He’s talking with—” Matilda’s smile disappeared, her foot tapped beneath her skirts, and her eyes narrowed. “Ah. I see. Yes. I’ll come along, too.” Fiona picked up her tankard and joined Matilda across the room with the others.
Lord Andrew sat across from Amelia. “What is that about?” His gaze dipped from her eyes to her body for just an instant.
Had he looked at her décolletage? She heated. Every word she’d ever known dropped away, and she took a large swallow of her ale. “What do you mean, my lord?”
“That gown. It’s pink.”
Pink? Pink! He’d been looking at the pink. Not at her at all. Was the ale deep enough to drown herself in? She finished it off to stop herself from trying. “Ah. Yes. Fiona lent it to me. Very kind of her. I quite like the color. She says it suits me.”
His brows drew together. “It’s not your usual shade.”
Did that bother him? She’d never even tried to wear color around him. It hadn’t seemed the thing to do in a professional capacity. She’d followed his example and worn only the dullest shades—grays and blacks and deep blues and browns.
“Do you think it inappropriate?” she asked.
“I suppose not for a wedding, but…”
The most irritating unfinished sentence in the world. “But?” she demanded.
“It’s not you.”
Rubbish. She waved for another ale. The barmaid would be kept busy this day. How did this man know herwhen she pretended to be him? Pretended, at least, to run his agency on her own. And since
he had always been a fastidious sort—even on short acquaintance she’d been able to tell this—she’d copied his mannerisms and tendencies, hoping to keep her job as long as she could by pleasing him as best as possible.
She’d certainly achieved what she’d set out to do.
And lost something along the way.
“It is me, and I like it. I think I look nice in it. Do you think I look nice in it?” Oh. Had she asked him that? The ale must have control of her tongue.
His mouth opened slightly, and his eyes searched the room from one end to the other before finally landing, wary still, back on her. “You are presentable for the circumstances.” But he didn’t look at the gown. Didn’t look lower than her eyes. A lovely sign of respect.
She hated it. What good a low bodice if no one looked? The sisters-in-law were wrong. No use revealing a thing to this man.
“The gown is neither here nor there, Mrs. Dart.”
Mrs. Dart. He always used the fake title even though she’d never been wed. She understood the necessity for it. She could not keep her position without some pretense of experience, maturity. But she felt it built a wall between them, too.
“It certainly seems as if the gown is both here and there,” she replied. “You are overly bothered by it.”
“It is my mother’s or one of my sisters-in-law’s doing, so let us put the unfortunate matter of the gown behind us and focus on the business we’ll be doing in London tomorrow.”
The barmaid finally answered her call and placed a lovely full tankard before Amelia. She blessed the woman who scurried off as silently as she’d come.
Lord Andrew frowned at the libation.
“For heaven’s sake. The ale displeases you as well?”
“I need your mind clear, Mrs. Dart. For business matters.”
“It is your brother’s wedding. Surely those matters can wait. Have a drink. Converse with your family.”
“No.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a square of folded paper which he placed before her. The tip of one corner landed in a droplet of ale that had splashed onto the table, and the
paper darkened. Lord Andrew’s face darkened, too, and he snatched it up quickly, patting it dry on his jacket sleeve before holding it out to her, the paper now hovering from his fingers high enough above the table to remain safe. “Here. I know what I think best, but I thought you might have further insight. You work more closely with the families than I do, after all.”
She took the paper and unfolded it. “What am I looking at?” A list of names, that much she could tell. Women’s names.
“Possible financial backers for the expansion.”
“They’re all women. And… unmarried women.” She lifted her gaze from the paper to him, hoping to find some answer on his face. She knew better, and his emotionless expression gave her exactly what she’d come to expect from him—nothing. “Are you asking them to make charitable donations to the agency? It would be better to make such requests of women in control of their own funds. Or men. Unmarried women …” She shook her head. This man should know these things. He should. He did. She was the one refusing to see something.
“Unmarried women need to be married.” He said the thing she’d been keeping in the dark. “You’ll notice they are all wealthy families. With no titles. It will be a marriage of convenience for us both.”
Oh. Oh. Her fingers lost feeling all at once, and the paper fluttered to the tabletop, careless of small puddles, and she pressed her hand to heart where a wound had opened up. It hurt. How could she breathe after this? How could she live?
“Mrs. Dart? Are you ill?”
Her other hand fluttered to her cheek. Cold. “I… I am…”
Another hand cupped her other cheek. Not her hand. This one gloved in black and warm through a layer of thin cotton. She dared to look up. He stood, leaning over the table, and yes, it was his hand resting on her cheek, his blue eyes gazing down at her with concern.
“I knew you looked too flushed. Thought it the cursed gown bringing color to your cheeks. And you’ve had too much to drink. Back to the house with you. Now.”
She shook her head, and though she wanted to lean into the comfort of his palm, it was false comfort, temporary, curt,
professional. Not what she wished. So she brushed his hand away and clutched her hands in her lap, tried to master the panicked thumping of her heart.
“I’m fine,” she said in a stronger voice than she thought herself capable of.
He lowered back to his seat. “I don’t believe you.”
“I am.” She took a hearty sip of her drink. “’Tis merely that your plan is so unexpected. You’ve told me nothing of it.”
“Apologies. I wanted to be prepared with a list of possible names before sharing the plan with you.”
“Ever prepared. Wh-when do you intend to begin this course of action?”
“As soon as we return to Manchester.”
“Ah yes. Quite sensible.” The perfect answer to give him because it’s what he expected her to say. Also what she’d say if she weren’t in love with him. “But…” Her mouth proved almost too dry to speak. She shouldn’t speak. She knew the shape of the words jumping to leave her lips, and she should keep them locked tight away, but she loved him, and what he intended to do… He deserved better. The women deserved better. She’d received a handful of the type of proposal Lord Andrew planned. For any woman with a heart, it was a hurtful thing. “What about love, Lord Andrew? Will you truly enter into a passionless marriage? Or is there someone you…” She couldn’t say it, couldn’t finish the thought. The names on the soggy paper glowing on the tabletop between them mocked her. Had he traced any of them with a greater softness than the rest?
“I’ve no time for love. You know that. Love takes time. And it’s too unpredictable. What if I were to fall in love with a poor woman?” He shook his head. “No. Not part of the plan. Let others suffer with love. I choose only that which I can control.”
“Suffer indeed,” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She’d been right. She could not tell him. It would not do any good. Once set on a plan, Lord Andrew Bromley did not veer from it, not for any temptation. And love, it seemed, proved no temptation at all.
She drank her ale slowly and silently, listening to the details of Lord Andrew’s plan, and wondered how long her heart could survive after the man she loved married another woman. She’d kept her secret for fear she’d have to leave when he did not return her feelings. Secrecy had meant survival. Now survival might mean the very last thing she’d ever wanted to do—leave.
Three
Coach rides were insufferable. Drew could plot and plan for hours with Mrs. Dart, but she could not write those plans down. On the one hand, an utter waste. On the other, it did help to organize his thoughts. Not that it mattered this particular trip to London. Atlas stole all of Mrs. Dart’s time and attention. They’d played card games and read to one another, conversed and laughed. Atlas even sang her a song, and she’d sung one back. Then they’d sung one together.
And Drew had done his best not to cast up his accounts while attempting to sleep through it all. He’d never been sick because of the swaying of the coach before. He must have over imbibed last night. Mrs. Dart certainly had, not that she showed the signs of it. She looked pert and competent as usual in her gray traveling gown and brown pelisse. Gray and brown. Thank God. Everything back to normal.
Except for Atlas.
“What are you doing here again?” Drew asked. “Going to London, same as you.” Atlas grinned.
“I understand that part. But you could have taken your own coach.”
“It needs repairs. And I need someone to help me finish the dower house. That someone is likely in London. Thus, I’m sitting here. Going to London in order to bring back an artisan.”
“Yes.” A coming megrim beat against the inside of Drew’s skull. “But you are going to London withme.”
“How do you work for such a grouch?” Atlas asked Mrs. Dart.
“It can be a trial at times. But I am more than capable of handling the man.”
Drew grunted.
“Do not let Lord Andrew make you feel unwelcome.” Mrs. Dart’s neatly gloved hand shot out and patted his brother’s shoulder. There was a pearl button just at the wrist, holding it closed, a solitary concession to vanity in her otherwise drab ensemble. Drab? No. Rather, call it perfectly practical. He’d never thought her gowns drab before. That damn pink gown had ruined something inside him. No matter. Time and an abundance of gray skirts would put it all to rights.
“I am glad to have your company, Lord Atlas,” Mrs. Dart said. “You have helped pass the hours in many diverting ways.”
“Many pointless ways.” Drew stretched his aching legs out until they sliced between Atlas’s leg and Mrs. Dart’s skirts. A nice little wall, separating, dividing, conquering. “We’ve not discussed anything of importance.”
“Do not whine,” Mrs. Dart said. “It’s unbecoming of a grown man.”
“I’m not—” Drew cleared his throat and looked out the window. What he’d been about to say, even to his own ears, had sounded damn near close to a whine. The edges of London rolled by, the houses and buildings far apart but growing closer together as they traveled onward. “Let us be serious now. We have two goals in London. The first is to visit townhouses and choose one for the agency. The second is to find Atlas an artisan.” He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open then closed, needing only a moment to glimpse the time before slipping the watch back into his pocket. “We will need to meet the property agent soon, so
townhouse business first. But we should have enough time to drop you off at the Waneborough Charitable School of Art, Atlas.”
Atlas saluted him. “Yes, sir.” A military bark.
Drew pursed his lips and turned to his secretary. “Mrs. Dart, have you had time to consider the list I gave you?”
“No.” Not quite a military bark but just as sharp.
“And why not?”
“Because that list is not my business.”
“What list?” Atlas asked.
“It is too your business.” Drew sat up straight, though it meant having to retract his legs from between his brother and his secretary.
“What list?” Atlas asked again.
“You pay me,” Mrs. Dart said, “to assist you in a professional capacity, and that list is quite, quite personal. Thus, it is outside of my realm of duties.”
“Personal?” Drew almost rolled his eyes. But he did not. He kept his tone moderate as well. No reason to give into the frustrated heat rising within him. “It’s entirely a business matter. There is nothing personal about it.”
“It’s a list of marriage candidates!” Mrs. Dart’s voice exploded, and it heralded a buzzing silence into the coach.
First pink. Now explosions?
Drew removed his glasses, then pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe the lenses clean, focusing on the task as he said, “What has gotten into you, Mrs. Dart?”
Her jaw twitched and her lips thinned, and she tossed her gaze out the window.
“You’re getting married?” Atlas whistled. “Never would have thought. But what’s this about it being a business matter? You told Raph you were good with funds. If you need money, Drew, the painting—”
“No. I don’t want the painting. I want a marriage of convenience with a wealthy woman of my choosing.”
Atlas held up his hands, palms flat toward his brother. “Do as you wish, brother. I won’t stop you. I won’t agree with you, but I won’t stop you. Not that I could. You’ve always gone your own way.” Just
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mediation, and prevailed on the disputants to accept the terms which she offered. By the Treaty of Fontainebleau (8 Nov. 1785) the Emperor agreed to waive his exorbitant claims in consideration of the payment of 15,000,000 florins, for the half of which sum the Court of Versailles became responsible. That so heavily burdened a State should add to its financial difficulties excited some surprise; but in the political sphere Vergennes gained a signal triumph. By becoming paymaster to Joseph, he kept that wayward ruler in French leading strings; and, by saving Maestricht and the Scheldt navigation to the Dutch, he ensured the supremacy of France in that land. This compact was followed two days later by a Franco-Dutch treaty of alliance whereby the Court of Versailles guaranteed the possessions of the United Provinces; and each of the two States undertook to furnish ships and men to the other in case of attack.442
Meanwhile Pitt awoke to a sense of the danger, and urged Harris to use his utmost endeavours (short of an open breach with France) to prevent the ratification of the treaty by the United Provinces. All that the envoy could do was to present to the States General at The Hague a Memorial declaring the continued interest taken by England in the affairs of the Republic. But of what avail was this academic statement without a conditional and secret offer of armed support, which everybody knew France would give rather than forego her triumph? Again, early in December, Pitt warned Carmarthen that Harris should “redouble every possible effort” to prevent the Franco-Dutch alliance.443 This was merely to bid him fight with his hands tied.
France now held a most commanding position in Europe. By the new compacts she influenced Hapsburg policy, she forced Frederick the Great into almost abject deference, she allured Catharine, and she controlled the Dutch Netherlands. This last triumph crowned the lifework of Vergennes. The recent treaties relieved him from the disagreeable alternative of choosing between Austria and the United Provinces in case of a rupture. They emphasized the isolation of England. Above all, they prepared the way for joint action of the French and Dutch East India Companies which might prove to be fatal to British ascendancy in India.444
The meagre correspondence of Pitt at this time contains scarcely a reference to this very serious crisis. His letters turn mainly on finance, Irish affairs, and domestic topics such as the purchase of Holwood. On the Dutch problem there is not a word except the curiously curt reference in his letter of October 6 to Grenville: “I have written to Lord Carmarthen on the Dutch business much as you seem to wish.”445 The phrase is interesting as marking the commencement of the influence which Grenville was soon to gain over Pitt in foreign affairs; but its nonchalance is astounding. In part, no doubt, the passivity of the Prime Minister resulted from the determination of George III to hold aloof as King of England from all complications, however much, as Elector of Hanover, he might irritate Austria and Russia. As we shall see in the next chapter, George was beginning to be alarmed at the growing expenses of his family, and viewed the Dutch crisis mainly as involving burdensome demands on the Civil List. Here, then, as at so many points in his career, Pitt was handicapped by the King.
But it is also probable that in the disappointing year 1785, marked by the failure of his Reform and Irish measures, he suppressed the concern which he must have felt at the deepening isolation of England. We must remember that he had formed a resolve to play a waiting game in foreign affairs. On August 8 he wrote to the Duke of Rutland that, if the commercial treaty with Ireland became law, and peace lasted for five years, England would be able to look any Power in Europe in the face.446 That explains why he tied the hands of Harris at The Hague and sent to Berlin overtures so cautious as to be received with polite disdain. His great aim was to lessen the National Debt; and the year 1785, with all its disappointments, witnessed a most extraordinary rise in Consols, viz. from 54¼ to 73½. There was the strength of England’s position. If she reduced her debt, while all the Continental Powers were ruinously increasing theirs, she must have the advantage when turmoil ended in war.
Pitt therefore adopted a policy of delay. So long as he could strengthen the navy, maintain the army at the ordinary peace footing, and enhance the nation’s credit, he was content to bide his time, leaving Harris to combat French influence in Holland as best he could.447 Such a policy was very far from brilliant; and, had not France
in the next two years entered on a period of rapid decline, he might be censured for tamely waiting on events. For it is possible that a bold initiative at Whitehall in October, while Vergennes’ Dutch treaties were taking shape, might have gained active support either from Prussia or from Joseph II, who had been on very cool terms with France. Pitt, however, preferred to hold back, even though the Bourbons gained control of the United Provinces. By his passivity in face of that diplomatic disaster we may measure his devotion to the cause of peace. And just as Queen Elizabeth often reassured her people at the gravest crisis by displays of frivolity, so too Pitt’s absorption in tree planting at Holwood may have been a device for hiding his anxiety, reassuring the public, and preventing a fall in the Funds.
Serene hopefulness in the future of his country is a strong feature in the character of this great man; and we shall find occasions when he displayed this quality to excess. Certain it is that he never lost hope or relaxed his energies, even now, when Ministers and envoys evinced signs of gloom or despair. A proof of the prevalence of these feelings appears in one of the closing passages of a Memorandum which the Duke of Richmond, Master of the Ordnance, on 30th December 1785, sent to his colleague, Carmarthen. It was written owing to a singular circumstance, which reveals the impulsiveness of Pitt. The Duke had almost casually suggested the desirability of recovering some foothold in the Dutch Netherlands by inducing them to propose to include England in their recent treaty with France. This hint, which the Duke threw out in conversation, was at once taken up by Pitt, who, without consulting the Cabinet, urged Carmarthen to take steps to carry it into effect, and suggested that one of the Patriots might be bribed to make the proposal of including England, as if it were to test the sincerity of her offers of friendship. Of course the matter came to nothing; but the surprise of the Duke at Pitt’s speedy adoption of the hint led him to descant on our isolation, and to harp on the well-worn theme of an alliance with Austria:—
Goodwood, December 30, 1785.
... If the Emperor and France keep well together, Leghorn will be also an inimical port,448 as may Algiers and Marocco if their treaties with Spain go on. Holland seems lost to us both in Europe
and the East Indies; and should the Emperor and Russia unite with France, Sweden must follow, and Denmark dare not be our friend. Under such circumstances what are we to look for but utter ruin! If France is disengaged on the Continent and assisted by Spain, Holland and Russia (to say nothing of America), we must be attacked with greatly superior forces in the East and West Indies and perhaps in Canada; but, what is still worse, we shall undoubtedly have the war brought into Ireland, and I very much doubt whether we can by any means avoid that country being divided, and a large part acting against us. If any of these points of attack succeed, and above all, if our navy should meet with any disaster from superior forces, the next step will be to bring the war into this country, and the best issue of such an event must be attended with much distress. In short, the natural and political advantages of France are such that I very much fear the consequences. To divert her attention by stirring up some powerful enemy on the Continent has been long and universally considered as our only resource, and yet unfortunately we seem to be obstructing the only Power capable of creating that diversion, which is the Emperor....449
It was amidst fears so intense and prejudices so deep-seated that Pitt undertook the negotiations for a friendly commercial treaty with France which is the chief event of the year 1786.
CHAPTER XIV
L’ENTENTE CORDIALE
(1786)
Thy father’s fame with thine fair Truth shall blend. His vigour saved from foreign foes the land, Thy prudence makes each foreign foe a friend.
R .
W. M
P , 1786.
THE nation is but the family writ large; and, just as families after a ruinous quarrel sometimes win their way back towards prudence and friendliness, so too nations now and again feel the force of the sociable instincts. Such a time was now at hand for Great Britain and France. The eight years of the American War of Independence had increased the debt of the Island Power by £115,000,000;450 and so wasteful had been the conduct of the war by France that in the years 1778–1783, she had exceeded the total of her already large peace expenditure by £66,000,000.451 Further, as that struggle brought to her few results beyond the satisfaction of rending the British Empire in twain, she was scarcely the better for it. In truth, while defeat led patriotic Britons to tread the humble paths of retrenchment and reform, the triumph of France allured her politicians into the stately avenues ending in bankruptcy and Revolution.
During the period of war, philosophy, science, and industry had been waging their peaceful campaigns; and now in the exhaustion or quiescence which beset both peoples, the still small voice of reason was heard. The responsiveness of thought in England and France is one of the most remarkable facts in the eighteenth century. Though
political rivalry had five times over embroiled those peoples in deadly strife, yet their thinkers had never ceased to feel the thrill of sympathetic ideas, originated by “the natural enemy,” which proved to be no less potent than the divulsive forces of statecraft. The Marconigrams of thought pass through storms, whether atmospheric or political; and it may be that finally the nations will become soundingboards responding more and more to progressive ideas, and less and less to the passions of mankind.
Certainly the mental sympathy of England and France in that century was strongly marked. As is well known, the philosophy of Locke supplied Voltaire and Rousseau with most of the weapons of their intellectual armoury. From the English constitution Montesquieu drew many of the contentions which lend significance to his Esprit des Lois The ideas of naturalism and sensibility were wafted hither from the garner of Rousseau. Philanthropy became a force in both lands about the same time but in diverse ways. In France it was in the main anti-clerical, springing from the indignant protests of Voltaire against atrocities such as that inflicted by the Church on Calas. In this land it may be traced to the Wesleyan revival, the motive which impelled Howard, Clarkson, and Wilberforce being distinctly religious.
On a lower plane we notice the immense vogue of English fashions in France, and of French modes in England. Grands seigneurs sought to copy our field sports, swathed themselves in English redingotes, and rose in the stirrups à l’Anglaise. The Duc de Chartres (the future Philippe Egalité) set the rage for English ways and fabrics, so that French industries seriously suffered. In 1785 the French Minister complained to our envoy that French draperies could not be sold unless they looked like English stuffs.452 Britons returned the compliment. They swarmed into France. We find our envoy complaining that English families were settling in every French town, so that it might be well to devise an absentee tax which would drive them homewards.453
But no influence helped on the new cosmopolitanism so much as the spread of ideas of Free Trade. Here the honours lie with French thinkers. It was by residence in France and contact with the Economistes, Quesnay and Turgot, that Adam Smith was able to
formulate the ideas soon to be embodied in the “Wealth of Nations.” Here we may note a curious paradox. The practical islanders supplied their neighbours with political ideas which, when barbed by Voltaire and Rousseau, did much to gall France into violent action. On the other hand, the more nimble-witted people gave to its trading rival the fiscal principles (neglected at home) which furthered the extension of its commerce. Venomous use might be made of this contrast by that fast diminishing band of Anglophobes who see in all British actions perfidious attempts to ruin France; but it must be remembered that everything depends on the men who introduce and apply the new ideas, and that, whereas France was unfortunate in the men who promulgated and worked the political principles learnt in England, the islanders on the contrary had the wisest of counsellors. Contrast Voltaire, Rousseau, and Robespierre with Adam Smith and Pitt, and the riddle is solved at once.
Amidst the exhaustion of war, both nations were now ready to listen to all that was most convincing in the arguments of the Economistes and of Adam Smith. These exponents of the nascent science of Economics rendered a memorable service to the cause of peace by urging nations, like sensible traders, to rejoice in the prosperity of their neighbours, not in their poverty. Propinquity, said they, should be an incentive to free intercourse, not to hatred. Adam Smith pointed out in his “Wealth of Nations” (1776) that France could offer us a market eight times as populous as that of our North American colonies, and twenty-four times as advantageous if the frequency of the returns were reckoned. The British market, he said, would be equally profitable to France. He laughed to scorn the notion that France would always drain Great Britain of her specie, and showed that the worship of the “balance of trade” was accountable for much folly and bloodshed.454 It is difficult to say whether these views had much hold on the English people. If we may judge from the passions aroused by Pitt’s Irish Resolutions, it was slight. On the other hand the absence of any vehement opposition to the commercial treaty with France a year later, shows either that public opinion here was moving forwards, or that the Opposition felt it impossible to bring to bear on the absolute government of Louis XVI those irritating arguments which had had so potent an influence on the Irish people.
The influence of the Economistes in France probably did not count for very much. But they had shown their power during the brief but beneficent ministry of Turgot; and even when Marie Antoinette procured the dismissal of that able but austere Minister, one of his disciples remained in office, and was now Minister of Foreign Affairs. This was Vergennes. Few men at that time did more for the cause of human brotherhood than this man, whom Carlyle described as “solid phlegmatic ... like some dull punctual clerk.” A man’s importance depends, after all, not so much on external brilliance as on the worth of his achievements; a statesman who largely decided the FrancoAmerican alliance, the terms of peace in 1783, and the resumption of friendly relations with England, need not fear the verdict of history. In a little known fragment written in April 1776, Vergennes thus outlines an intelligent policy:
Wise and happy will that nation be which will be the first to adapt its policy to the new circumstances of the age, and to consent to see in its colonies nothing more than allied provinces and no longer subject States of the mother-land. Wise and happy will that nation be which is the first to be convinced that commercial policy consists wholly in employing lands in the way most advantageous for the owners, also the arms of the people in the most useful way, that is, as self-interest will enjoin if there is no coercion; and that all the rest is only illusion and vanity. When the total separation of America [from Great Britain] has forced everybody to recognize this truth and weaned the European nations from commercial jealousy, it will remove one important cause of war, and it is difficult not to desire an event which ought to bring this boon to the human race.455
Two years later, when France drew the sword on behalf of the Americans, Britons naturally scoffed at these philanthropic pretensions. The conduct of her Court and nobles was certainly open to the charge of hypocrisy, especially when Louis XVI issued the ordinance of 1781 restricting the higher commissions in his army to those nobles who could show sixteen quarters of nobility. Singular, indeed, to battle for democracy in the new world and yet draw tighter
the bands of privilege in France! Yet Vergennes, Necker, and other friends of reform were not responsible for this regal folly; and they were doubtless sincere in hoping that the downfall of England’s colonial system would inaugurate a new era in the politics and commerce of the world.
A proof of the sincerity of Vergennes is to be found in the 18th Article of the Treaty of Versailles (1783), which stipulated that, immediately after the ratification of the treaty, commissioners should be appointed to prepare new commercial arrangements between the two nations “on the basis of reciprocity and mutual convenience, which arrangements are to be terminated and concluded within the space of two years from the 1st of January 1784.” For this clause Lords Shelburne and Grantham on the British side were chiefly responsible; and it is certain that the former warmly approved it.456 Pitt, as Chancellor of the Exchequer in that Ministry, doubtless also welcomed the proposal; but I have found no sign of his opinions on the subject. The credit for this enlightened proposal may probably be assigned to Vergennes, seeing that he dictated terms, while the British Cabinet accepted them. There is a ring of sincerity in his words written on 1st February 1783 to de Rayneval, then his diplomatic agent in London: “It is an old prejudice, which I do not share, that there is a natural incompatibility between these two peoples.... Every nation must strive for the utmost prosperity; but this cannot be based on exclusiveness, otherwise it would be a nullity One does not get rich from very poor nations.”457 This seems to be an echo of Adam Smith’s dictum: “A nation that would enrich itself by foreign trade is certainly most likely to do so when its neighbours are all rich, industrious, and commercial nations.”458
Statesmen on this side of the Channel were slower than their rivals in seeking to realize these enlightened aims. The fall of Shelburne’s Ministry and the triumph of the Fox-North Coalition led to no important change in the Treaty, which was signed at Versailles in September 1783; but the commercial treaty was shelved for the present. With all his enlightenment in matters political, Fox had a limited outlook in the commercial sphere. He held the old Whig views, which for wellnigh a century had been narrowly national and mercantilist. Further, he hotly
contested the claim put forward by the French Government to consider all trading arrangements at an end, including those of the Treaty of Utrecht, if no arrangement were formed before the end of the year 1785.459
Such was the state of things when Pitt and Carmarthen took office at the close of the year 1783. The events described in the previous chapter will have enabled the reader to understand the need of great caution on the part of Pitt. Though the language of Vergennes was redolent of human brotherhood, his actions were often shrewdly diplomatic. In the United Provinces, as we have seen, his policy wore a twofold aspect. While supporting the Patriots, he claimed to be supporting the cause of democracy, but he also dealt a blow at British influence. Though he maintained the Austrian alliance, he coquetted with Prussia; and, while dallying with the Czarina in order to keep out England, he made a profitable bargain with Russia’s enemy, Sweden, respecting Gothenburg. Thus on all sides he advanced the cause of enlightenment and the interests of France.
It is not surprising that this dextrous union of philosophy and statecraft (which resembles that by which Napoleon utilized Rousseau’s advocacy of natural boundaries) earned the hatred of nearly every Briton. Carmarthen and Harris were deeply imbued with these feelings; and it is certain that Pitt, while taking the outstretched hand of Vergennes, half expected a dagger-thrust. We find Grenville writing to Carmarthen on 25th February 1785 concerning a plan, which Pitt had formed, for provisionally buying over a Mr. D. S. M. at Paris to send confidential news, especially respecting the plans and movements of the French in the East Indies. He was to receive 60 guineas a month for news sent to Daniel Hailes, Secretary at the British Embassy, and 250 guineas at the end of three months if his information gave satisfaction.460 Other items make if clear that Pitt viewed with concern the activity of France in the East. The formation of a French East India Company in March 1785 was a threatening sign;461 and in the summer came a report from Sir Robert Ainslie, British ambassador at Constantinople, that France was intriguing to gain a foothold in Egypt on the Red Sea. Part of his despatch of 23rd July 1785 is worth quoting:
...
The Porte has varied in her general opposition to establishing a trade through Egypt, by opening the navigation of the Red Sea to the flag of Christian Powers. The present undertaking and the late French mission to Cairo was in consequence of a plan devised by the late French ambassador to ruin our East India Company by an illicit trade under the protection of France, in which it was thought the Company’s servants would join most heartily. It is clear that France adopted this scheme, but I can pledge myself the Porte was not consulted and that she will never protect a project by far more dangerous to her own interests than even to ours. It seems Count Priest hoped to elude the Ottoman bad humour by employing the navigation of the flags of all Christian Powers indiscriminately and to secure his trade by the protection of the Beys of Egypt, who certainly have aimed at absolute independence ever since the time of Ali Bey.462
The correspondence of Sir James Harris with Carmarthen shows that our Ministry kept a watchful eye on any symptoms which portended a union of the Dutch East India Company with that of France. Indeed, as we shall see, the reasons which prompted the resolute action of Pitt at the crisis of 1787 in Holland were largely based on naval and colonial considerations. Matters in the East were in an uneasy state. Once again, in January 1786, Hailes reported that the unsettled state of Egypt was known to be attracting the notice of the French Foreign Office, probably with a view to conquest.463 The efforts which France put forth in 1785–6 for the construction of a great naval fortress at Cherbourg also claimed attention; and Britons were not calmed by the philosophic reflections of some peace-loving Gauls that the completion of that mighty harbour would render it impossible for England to make war on France.
In view of the lowering political horizon, is it surprising that Pitt was very cautious in responding to the proposals of the French Cabinet for a friendly commercial treaty? It is incorrect to say, as Harris did in a rather peevish outburst, that Pitt was too occupied with Parliament to
attend to foreign affairs.464 We now know that he paid much attention to them, though the pressing problems of finance, India, Ireland, and Reform perforce held the first place in his thoughts. But he must have desired to gain a clearer insight into a very complex situation before he committed his country to a commercial treaty with France.465 To have done so prematurely might have prevented the formation of that closer political union with Russia and Austria which British statesmen long and vainly struggled to effect.
But another motive probably weighed even more with Pitt in favour of delay. We have seen how fondly and tenaciously he clung to the hope of a commercial union between Great Britain and Ireland through the session of 1785. Surely it was of prime importance to complete the fiscal system of the British Islands before he entered into negotiations with a foreign Power. To have hurried on the French commercial treaty before that with Ireland was concluded would have been a grave tactical error. As a firm economic unit, Great Britain and Ireland could hope for far better terms from France than as separate entities; and this consideration almost certainly supplies the reason for Pitt’s extreme anxiety to assure the industrial unity of these islands before he began to bargain with France; while it may also explain the desire of Vergennes to press on the negotiation before the British Islands had acquired fiscal solidarity. In fine, everything conspired to impose on Pitt a passive attitude. Vergennes, as the victor, could propose terms; Pitt, representing the beaten Power, could only await them. Such was the situation in 1784–5. An autocracy founded on privilege seemed to be threatening our political existence, and yet made commercial proposals which might have come from Adam Smith himself.
The British Government responded to them very slowly. In the spring of 1784 it appointed George Craufurd to act as our commissioner at Versailles for the drafting of a commercial arrangement, as was required by the treaty of 1783; but he did not receive his instructions until September. Rayneval, who had the full confidence of Vergennes, was the French commissioner; and at their first interview he asked that the principle of reciprocity should form the basis of the negotiations. To this the British Court demurred, and the affair remained in suspense for some months. On 3rd March 1785
Craufurd wrote to Carmarthen that he was still waiting for replies to his notes of 30th September and 25th November, and that Vergennes had repeatedly expressed to the Duke of Dorset, the British ambassador, his annoyance at the loss of time. His resentment had recently taken a tangible form; he had issued an ordinance (arrêt) imposing a tax of sixty per cent on all carriages imported from the United Kingdom. This action led Carmarthen to break his long silence on commercial matters and to protest against the tax as tending to “prevent that spirit of conciliation or friendly liberality so necessary at this time to produce any good effect for those commercial arrangements now in contemplation.”466 He also hinted that Great Britain might with perfect justice retaliate. Further, he repudiated the French claim, once again raised, that all commercial arrangements would lapse by the end of 1785, and maintained that the Treaty of Utrecht would afterwards equally be in force. After further delays Rayneval demanded that there should be absolute reciprocity in their commercial dealings, the basis of the most favoured nation being adopted where it did not infringe existing treaties. To this Carmarthen sent the following reply on 5th August:
Mutual benefits and reciprocal advantages are indisputably the objects we are inclined to pursue in the adjustment of this business; but to say at once that the two nations shall be entitled to those privileges which are alone allowed to the most favoured nations, by way of a basis to the negotiation and without weighing the nature and consequence of such privileges is totally impossible; and of this I think M. de Rayneval must be convinced when he recollects that it was a stipulation of this sort contained in the 8th and 9th articles of the Treaty of Commerce of Utrecht in 1713 that prevented those articles from ever being carried into effect.467
Considering that reciprocity and the most favoured nation treatment had been urged by Rayneval at his first interview with Craufurd in September 1784, it is difficult to see why Carmarthen felt flurried by the present proposal.
Meanwhile Vergennes had struck another heavy blow. He issued an arrêt forbidding foreigners to share in the French trade to the Barbary States, and on 10th July he prohibited the import of foreign cottons, muslins, gauzes, and linens into France. At once there arose a cry of distress and rage throughout Great Britain; and Carmarthen sent an energetic remonstrance against this further proof of the illhumour of the French Government. Hailes at once informed him that the two arrêts had “been suspended with more forbearance than could reasonably have been expected, considering the detriment French manufactures have sustained, and the great advantage we have derived from the balance of trade being so much and so long in our favour. People in general think that this strong measure will hasten the conclusion of an arrangement between us.”468 Vergennes soon assured Hailes of his desire for a friendly arrangement, but he added that meanwhile the French Government had to look to its own needs and stop the enormous influx of British goods, for which the French public clamoured. Commerce and finance were then the chief care of the French Government. On 25th August Hailes reported the pains secretly taken by the French to attract skilled English workmen. On 22nd September Craufurd stated that further disagreeable events would happen unless some progress were made with the commercial treaty; Rayneval observed that, if we objected to reciprocity and the most favoured nation basis, it was for us to make a proposal. On 21st October Vergennes issued another unfriendly arrêt prohibiting the import of iron, steel, and cutlery; but Hailes continued to assure Carmarthen that Vergennes and Rayneval were anxious for a final settlement and that the arrêts were “meant to stimulate us to a conclusion of the commercial treaty as soon as possible.”469
Pitt now began to bestir himself on this matter In order to have at Paris a commissioner abler, or more acceptable, than Craufurd seems to have been, he made overtures to William Eden (the future Lord Auckland) with a view to his acting as special commissioner in his place. In the Auckland Papers at the British Museum there is an unpublished letter of Pitt to Eden, dated Brighthelmstone, 16th October 1785, in answer to one in which Eden had hinted that he would prefer the Speakership of the House of Commons, as Cornwall “obviously suffered while in the chair.”470 Pitt’s reply is as follows:
It gives me great satisfaction to find that there remains no obstacle to your acceptance of either of the situations mentioned in my letter to Mr. Beresford, and that nothing seems left to settle but the mode of carrying such an arrangement into effect. I confess I am not aware of any means which could properly be taken to induce the Speaker to retire at present; and therefore in the interval I should very much wish to accelerate the execution of the other idea.471
Pitt then refers to some difficulties which make it desirable to defer the actual appointment until the session had begun. He suggests conferences, especially as in a fortnight he would be nearer to Eden. All this bespeaks a degree of nonchalance quite remarkable considering the importance of the questions at stake. Everything tends to show that Pitt felt far less interest in this negotiation than in that with Ireland, to which he had very properly given the first place. The effort to free trade between the two islands having now failed, there was no reason for further postponing the discussions with France.
Such seems to me the reasonable way of explaining his procedure. The contention of the French historian of this treaty, that Pitt was opposed to the commercial arrangement with France, and was only forced into it by the hostile arrêts, is untenable.472 He maintains that it was the last arrêt, that of 21st October, which brought Pitt to his senses—“Mr. Pitt, who did not then wish for war, surrendered.” This phrase reveals the prejudice of the writer, who, publishing his work at the time of Cobden’s negotiations with Napoleon III, obviously set himself to prove that Free Trade was French both in the origin of the idea and in the carrying out in practice by statesmen. Passing over these claims, we should remember that Pitt had made his first overtures to Eden in the first week in October, some ten days before the appearance of the arrêt, which, in Butenval’s version, compelled him to “surrender.”
Pitt acted with much circumspection. He urged Eden to collect information on trade matters; but it seems that not until December did the new Council of Trade set on foot any official inquiries.473 Perhaps the Irish negotiation, which was hurried on too fast, had given him
pause. Meanwhile, however, France had gained another success by imposing her mediation on the Emperor Joseph II and the Dutch Government and settling the disputes between them. As appeared in the previous chapter, this treaty led to the conclusion of an alliance (10th November 1785) both political and commercial, with the United Provinces, which emphasized the isolation of England and secured the Dutch markets for France. Thus the delay in meeting the advances of Vergennes had been doubly prejudicial to British interests, and it must be confessed that Pitt’s début in European diplomacy was far from brilliant.
If, however, we look into details, we find that Carmarthen hampered the negotiations at the outset by refusing to accept the “most favoured nation” basis of negotiation, and by throwing on France the responsibility for not proposing some “practicable” scheme. On 14th October 1785 he wrote to Hailes that Great Britain very much desired a commercial treaty with France, and was waiting for “specific proposals” from her; and again, on 4th November, that matters seemed hopeless, owing to Rayneval’s obstinate adherence to his original scheme.474 This pedantic conduct was fast enclosing the whole affair in a vicious circle. Meanwhile the sands of time were running out: and it seemed that England would be left friendless and at the mercy of any commercial arrangement which France chose to enforce after the close of the year. It is strange that Pitt did not insist on the furtherance of a matter which he judged to be “of great national importance.”475 But his only step for the present was to write a letter, signed by Carmarthen, asking for an extension of time beyond the end of that year. In reply Vergennes expressed the satisfaction of Louis XVI that Great Britain was seriously desirous of framing a commercial treaty and granted six months’ extension of time.476 A year was finally granted.
Notwithstanding this further proof of Vergennes’ good will, the negotiation began under conditions so unfavourable to Great Britain as to call for a skilled negotiator; but the career of William Eden warranted the hope that he would bear the burden of responsibility triumphantly. Born in 1744, and educated at Eton and Christchurch, he early showed marked abilities, which were sharpened by practice at the Bar. He also
devoted his attention to social and economic questions; and when, in 1780, he became Chief Secretary for Ireland under the Earl of Carlisle, he did much to promote the prosperity of that land, especially by helping to found the Bank of Ireland. He took keen interest in the treatment of prisoners, and proposed to substitute hard labour for transportation. The reform of the penal laws also engaged his attention. He had long been attached to Lord North’s party, though his views were more progressive than theirs. By his marriage with the sister of Sir Gilbert Elliot he came into touch with the Whigs; and, though his petulant conduct in 1782 with regard to the resignation of the lord-lieutenancy by Carlisle caused general annoyance, he was largely instrumental in bringing about the Fox-North Coalition. Consistency sat lightly upon Eden; and when, in 1785, he hotly opposed Pitt’s Irish proposals, similar in effect to his own of some years earlier, he was roundly abused by one of his friends for his factiousness.477 The same correspondent soon had cause to upbraid him still further for his conduct in the autumn of 1785, when, leaving the Opposition, he went over to the Government side in order to act as special commissioner at Paris. The Duke of Portland coldly commended him for placing country above party; but the many saw in the move only enlightened self-interest and felt no confidence in him. Wraxall expressed the prevalent opinion when he said that there “existed in Eden’s physiognomy, even in his manner and deportment, something which did not convey the impression of plain dealing or inspire confidence.”478
Undoubtedly Eden was the ablest negotiator whom Pitt could have chosen for a difficult commercial bargain; Wedgwood at once wrote to say that he would have been his choice; and the remarks as to Pitt filching away a prominent member of the Opposition are clearly prompted by spite. After hearing much evidence on commercial matters at the Committee of Council, Eden set out for Paris at the end of March 1786, and was welcomed by Vergennes as a kindred soul. The Duke of Dorset was somewhat offended at his coming, and held aloof. Fortunately he found it desirable to take a long holiday in England, during which time the affairs of the embassy were ably carried on by Eden and Hailes. A popular song of the day referred to this in the lines:
For Dorset at cricket can play And leave Billy Eden in France, sir.
Dorset’s services were, in fact, mainly social. He was liked by Marie Antoinette; and his thés dansants were frequented by the leading nobles.479
On Eden, then, and Pitt (for Carmarthen felt no trust in the French) lay the chief burden of the negotiations. It is clear that Pitt now took a keen interest in the affair; and as Vergennes, Rayneval, and Calonne (Minister of Finance) showed a marked desire to come to a fair compromise, the matter was soon in good train. The chief difficulties arose from the suspicions of Carmarthen and the desire of Jenkinson, head of the Council of Trade, to drive a hard bargain with France. Pitt could not be indifferent to the opinions of his colleagues; and his experience of British manufacturers was such as to make him press for the best possible terms. That he still felt some distrust of the Court of Versailles is clear from his letter of 19th April 1786 to Eden that their financial embarrassments were such as “to secure, at least for a time, a sincere disposition to peace.”480 By that time, too, he must have received Eden’s letter of 13th April marked “Private and confidential,” which referred in glowing terms to the prospects of the negotiation:
It is a circumstance which I shall think a just subject of pride to us both in the present age and of merit with posterity if the result should be what at this moment seems probable.... France shows a disposition to encourage our trade if we remove the senseless and peevish distinctions which fill so many lines in our Book of Rates; and a decided resolution to obstruct it as much as possible if those distinctions are suffered to remain. In the same time all the speculations and exertions of our trade with this Kingdom are suspended, and the manufactures, the navigation and the revenue are suffering. Besides, all the trading and manufacturing parts of England are at this hour disposed to go much greater lengths than are now suggested.... It is even highly possible that this treaty may form a new epoch in history.481
Over against the enthusiasm of Eden we may set the distrust of Carmarthen, as evinced in his statement to that envoy on 29th April, that if France could ever be sincere, Eden would doubtless bring the bargain to a successful issue.482 Far less complimentary were his references to Eden in private letters to Dorset and Harris. From the former he inquired: “How is our paragon of perfection relished in France?”483 In a letter to Harris, who constantly maintained that Eden was playing the game for Versailles, not for London, Carmarthen referred to “the absurd and officious letter of our great commercial negotiator.”484 It is well to remember these jealousies; for, as Harris was the bosom friend of Carmarthen, he succeeded in persuading him that the whole negotiation with France was a trick of our arch-enemy. The letter of Harris, which called forth Carmarthen’s ironical reply, ended with the statement that France sought “to depress us everywhere, to keep us in an isolated and unconnected state, till such time as they think they can cripple us irrecoverably by an open hostile attack.”485 These suspicions must have been passed on to Pitt after due sifting; and it speaks much for the evenness and serenity of his mind that he persevered with the negotiation in spite of the prejudices of his Foreign Minister. Naturally, also, he kept the affair in his own hands.
In truth, Pitt occupied a position intermediate between that of the incurably suspicious Carmarthen and of the pleased and rather selfconscious Eden. When the latter very speedily arrived at a preliminary agreement, or Projet, with Rayneval, and begged that it should be adopted as speedily, and with as few alterations as possible, Pitt subjected it to friendly but close scrutiny. His reply of 10th May has been printed among the Auckland Journals; but his criticisms were even more practical in a long letter of 26th May, which is among the Pitt Papers. The following sentences are of special interest:
The Principles on which the Projet is founded are undoubtedly those on which it is to be wished that this business may be finally concluded, both as they tend to the mutual advantage of the two Countries in their commercial intercourse, and as they include the abolition of useless and injurious distinctions. But on the fullest
consideration it has not appeared to His Majesty’s servants that it would be proper to advise the immediate conclusion of a treaty on the footing of that Projet without some additions to it which may tend to give a more certain and permanent effect to these principles.... In addition to this, the Projet, as it now stands affords no security that general prohibitions or prohibitory duties may not at any time take place in either Country to the exclusion of whatever may happen to be the chief articles of trade from the other. It is true that the same motives which should guide both parties in the present negotiation might for a long time prevent their adopting a conduct so contrary to the spirit of the proposed agreement. But it cannot be the wish of either Court to trust to this security only. We ought by all the means in our power to remove even the possibility of future jealousy on these subjects. And it appears from the observations of the French Government on the first sketch of this Projet that they felt the force of this remark. There can therefore be no doubt of their readiness to concur in anything which can give it a greater degree of stability and certainty. And we shall probably arrive sooner at the great object— a solid and comprehensive settlement of the commercial intercourse between the two countries than by beginning with a Preliminary Treaty, unexceptionable indeed in its principles, but which would necessarily reserve some very important points for separate discussion, and would in the meantime leave the whole system incomplete and precarious.486
Pitt then pointed out to Eden that the discussion of a compact of a temporary nature would tend to unsettle the minds of traders and perhaps even to discredit the whole undertaking. Accordingly he enclosed a Declaration, which comprised the substance of the French Projet, but gave it a more permanent form and set limits to the duties which might thereafter be levied. The letter shows that he had got over his first suspicions and was now working for a more thorough and permanent settlement than that sketched by Rayneval. The draft of the British Declaration is in Pitt’s writing—a proof that he had taken this matter largely into his own hands. The replies of Eden to him are both long and frequent; but most of those preserved in the British Museum are too faded to be legible. In that of 6th June he warned Pitt that
